


Members of the Gang

by clgfanfic



Series: Alias Smith and Jones/War of the Worlds [3]
Category: Alias Smith and Jones, War of the Worlds (TV)
Genre: Crossover, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-29
Updated: 2012-10-29
Packaged: 2017-11-17 06:30:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/548622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clgfanfic/pseuds/clgfanfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Paul and Harrison find themselves in the Old West thanks to alien technology.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Members of the Gang

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published in the zine Just You, Me and the Governor #6 and later in Green Floating Weirdness #23 under the pen name Lynn Gill.

          "Damn it, Blackwood, get back," the colonel growled, taking a reluctant step closer to the astrophysicist.  "We don't know what that thing does."

          Lieutenant Colonel Paul Ironhorse was not used to being ignored, but the enigmatic civilian leader of the Blackwood Project made a habit of it.  The Project, dedicated to fighting a covert war against a small army of invading aliens from a planet called Mor'tax, was hip deep in trouble – again.

          Harrison Blackwood might have some uncanny hunches about the beings they were fighting and what they were up to, but it was the colonel's job to protect Blackwood and the Project – even when forced to do it in spite of Blackwood and his bottomless curiosity.

          Harrison, however, moved closer to the green glowing crystal, tugging off his glasses, tucking them into his shirt pocket, and staring at the object.  Three feet tall and shaped like a pyramid, it looked like something from a trendy New Age shop, but both men knew it had to serve a more sinister purpose.  The invading aliens wanted nothing less than the extermination of the entire human species, and nothing they were involved with could be of positive value.  It was alien.  It was dangerous.  And Blackwood was getting closer, squatting down to peer into the middle of the object.  It glowed brighter.

          "Blackwood," Ironhorse growled.

          When the Project's communications and computer wizard had intercepted the alien's latest set of communication transmissions, Blackwood, Ironhorse, and the colonel's hand-picked elite Special Forces unit had deployed to a northern California ghost town called Wildside.  There they found the aliens working in the few remaining brick buildings that had survived from the turn of the century.  The invaders were carrying out experiments, the nature of which remained a mystery to the humans.

          After a brief recon, Ironhorse had called in Omega Squad B as reinforcements and they raided the buildings in a coordinated effort to take all of the alien enemy in a single sweep.

          The maneuver had worked and they managed a sudden victory, but somehow, as they always did, the Mor'taxans had destroyed their work – except for the object which now held Blackwood spellbound.

          "Damn it, Harrison, I said get away from that thing."

          "Colonel, how am I supposed to understand it if I can't study it?" the scientist asked, standing and circling in closer.

          Ironhorse's battle sense was ringing like a five-alarm fire bell, and he eased in closer to Blackwood, ready to drag him away from the object if that was what it took.  A sudden pulse of light caught the soldier by surprise and he froze, his fingers curling into Blackwood's leather jacket as the world melted around him, casting the pair into a swirling white and green-tinged void.

          Fear welled up in Ironhorse, but he was unable to voice it as pain exploded in his head, pressing him into a welcome blackness.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Colonel?  Paul?"

          Ironhorse forced his eyes open, shut them, then finally cracked them open again to squint against the sun.  Sun?  What the—?  "Blackwood?"

          "Right here," was the reply, and a pair of hands reached out, helping the colonel into a seated position.  "You had me worried there for a minute."

          Ironhorse snorted, rubbing the back of his head.  "I'm fine, Doctor."  There was a small lump, as if his head had hit the ground when… when he'd passed out?

          The memory of the crystal returned and Ironhorse took a good look at his surroundings and felt his stomach knot.  "What the hell?"

          "That's exactly what I said," Blackwood commented, pushing himself to his feet.  He stuck out a hand and Ironhorse accepted it, letting the taller man pull him to his feet.

          Ironhorse walked off slowly, his gaze scrutinizing the terrain.  He paused, looking down at his uniform and then patted his pockets.  All of his gear was still in place, even the Uzi, slung over his shoulder.

          "Paul," Blackwood said, stepping up alongside the man.  "What happened?"

          Ironhorse gave Blackwood a thin smile.  "I was hoping you could tell me."

          The tapping of several small pebbles skittering down a nearby slope stalled any further comments.  Nodding toward a small grove of cottonwoods, the colonel herded Blackwood into the trees.  Checking the Uzi, he released the safety and scanned the ridge-line above the rocky flats where they had awakened.  "Two, maybe three," he announced.

          "What?  Aliens?"

          "I don't know, Doctor, but _something's_ moving out there."  Ironhorse pushed the scientist along, moving them further into an area of dark shadows.  Stopping, they crouched in the undergrowth.  "There," the colonel whispered, nodding.

          "Where?"

          "Two just left of that trident-shaped out-crop, and one on the ground by that pair of trees."

          "I see," Blackwood replied, his hand reaching out to rest on the colonel's shoulder.  "What do we do?"

          "We wait, Doctor.  It's their move."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Heyes!"

          The leader of the Devil's Hole Gang looked up from the straight flush he was holding and glared at the interruption.  "What is it, Kyle?"

          "Lobo, Wheat 'n' the Preacher's got a couple 'a lawmen holed-up in the cottonwoods."

          Heyes' attention shifted from the cards to his partner, Kid Curry.  No lawmen had ever penetrated that far into Devil's Hole.  "Lawmen?"

          "You're sure?" Curry added.

          The remaining three members of the gang fidgeted nervously.  If the law had finally found the entrance to the Hole. . . .

          "Well, purty sure," Kyle said, his face wrinkling in thought.  "They was dressed real p'cular."

          Heyes let his dark eyes drop closed for a moment.  "That _don't_ mean they're lawmen."  He fanned the cards out so the other players could see them, drawing groans from the three outlaws and a smile from the Kid.

          "Kyle, you just saved me a lot of money," Curry said, standing, and the youthful outlaw grinned happily.

          "And cost me that pot," Heyes added.  Kyle's smile faded.

          "Let's go, boys," the Kid directed, fighting a grin and heading for the door.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Damn it," Ironhorse said, his hand falling automatically to check the tomahawk he wore on his web belt.  The camouflage fatigues would hide him in the grove, and he was trained to move quickly and silently, but Blackwood was another matter.  The blue jeans, green flannel shirt and leather jacket might blend in well enough, but the man sounded like a moose on a stroll.

          "Trouble?" Harrison asked the soldier.

          Ironhorse stared intently at the rocky ridge.  "Probably.  We've got more company."

          "You, in the trees!" a voice called down from the top of the hill.

          "Think he means us?" Blackwood asked lightly.

          "This _isn't_ funny, Harrison."

          "Come out of there peaceable," the voice continued, "and you won't get hurt."

          "Well?" Blackwood asked the colonel.

          "We wait.  If they want us, they're going to have to come and get us."

          "We don't want to hurt you."

          "Right," Ironhorse growled lowly.  He hated feeling trapped, and he was.  The grove was small, but at least it afforded them cover for ten to twenty yards in any direction.  They couldn't leave, but the people on the hill couldn't see them clearly, either.

          "You're surrounded," called a second voice.

          "Not yet we aren't," Paul growled back.

          Blackwood shook his head.  "Colonel, we don't know what's going on here.  Maybe we—"

          "Come on," Ironhorse interrupted, grabbing the astrophysicist's sleeve and heading farther into the grove.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          For nearly an hour Ironhorse and Blackwood were able to avoid the ten men who entered the grove on horseback and on foot to find them.

          At least their search was haphazard, Ironhorse thought as he eased down to wait behind a tangle of deadwood.  Blackwood shifted for a more comfortable position next to him.  Their pursuers weren't military, or even paramilitary, the colonel concluded.  They _looked_ like cowboys.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse felt the man approaching before he actually heard the soft press of boot heels on the shade-damp leaf-covered ground.  He spun, his Uzi coming up, but the cowboy's revolver was in his hand and pointed at the colonel before Ironhorse realized he had actually seen the man drawn the weapon.  Paul's eyes widened.  This man was fast, very fast.  It was a standoff.

          Trusting his immediate gut reaction, the colonel snapped the Uzi up, letting it hang loosely in his grip, his hands moving away from his body.  If the man had wanted to kill him, it would have been a simple enough task.

          "Wait," the Special Forces officer said calmly.  The fast-draw expert was young, maybe twenty-one, he guessed, but the curly blond hair and gentle face could hide a few more years beneath their youthfulness, and the blue eyes that regarded him and Blackwood were anything but childish.

          "Don't move," the man said.  His gaze flickered to Blackwood.  "You have a gun?"

          "No," Harrison replied honestly.

          "Over here, fellas!" the blond called out.

          Ironhorse turned slightly, watching a dark-haired man emerged from the shadows, his Colt already drawn.  The man had been watching, backing up the blond.  The colonel studied the newcomer – he was a year or two older than the fast draw, his dark eyes more curious and probing.  He might be more dangerous, too.

          The rest of the cowboys emerged from the trees, surrounding the two men and regarding them with curiosity.

          "Would you lookee here?"

          Ironhorse considered resisting when a dusty, grinning cowboy pulled the Uzi from his hand, but the flash of warning in the fast draw's blue eyes stopped him.

          "Strangest gun I ever did see," the rumpled young man said, turning the weapon over in his hands to get a feel for it.  He touched the trigger, sending a spray of bullets past another man and into the undergrowth, flushing out a rabbit.

          "Hellfire and tarnation, Kyle!  You could 'a killed me!" the near-victim yelled.

          "Kyle!"

          The colonel saw Blackwood jump at the sharp retort from the dark-haired man.  He was obviously the leader, but who were they?  He wanted to reach in and test the lot of them with the hand-held Geiger counter he had in his pocket, but he couldn't risk it.  They didn't feel like aliens.

          "Give me that," the dark-haired man commanded, taking the Uzi like it was a rattlesnake.  He turned his attention to the two Project members.  "Gentlemen," he said with a nod.  "Who are you?"

          "Lieutenant Colonel Paul Ironhorse, United States Army," the colonel replied. With the uniform he was wearing, it was useless to deny it.

          "The Army?" Kyle squeaked.  "Heyes, they sent the Army after us!"

          "He ain't no colonel," another man snorted.  "United States Army don't have no Indian officers.  Don't let 'em in, 'cept as scouts."

          "Scouts?" Ironhorse breathed, his stomach suddenly a cold knot of dread.

          "Now, just a minute, Colonel Ironhorse is a graduate of West Point and a veteran of—"

          "West Point, is it?" the cowboy snorted disbelievingly.

          "Wheat," Heyes tried to interrupt.

          "An Indian at West Point?  Now that's the craziest thing I ever did hear!"

          "What's a westpoint?" Kyle asked, scratching his forehead as if the attempt to figure it out on his own made his brain hurt.

          "That's the Army's school for high-falootin' officers like Grant and Sherman and Lee," a tall, thin man supplied.

          "Preacher, get his weapons and check the other one," Heyes requested and the thin man nodded.  "All right, we have Lieutenant Colonel Paul Ironhorse…"  He looked at Blackwood.  "And you are?"

          "Harrison Blackwood."

          "Not the Army?" Heyes asked, a small grin playing across his lips.  Even the cowboy could see Blackwood wasn't a military man.

          "No."

          "Lawman?" the fast draw asked.

          "No."

          "I'd guess a lawyer, or a teacher maybe?" Heyes ventured.

          "I'm a scientist," Blackwood explained.  "Astrophysics."

          "Ass-o-what?" another of the men asked, the others snickering.  Kyle punched the man in the arm.

          "I study the stars," was Harrison's affronted explanation.

          "Navigator?" Wheat translated.  "What would a navigator and an Indian be doin' out here?  I think they're lyin', Heyes."

          "With this get-up," Kyle said, reaching out to rub the sleeve of Ironhorse's uniform between his finger and thumb.  "He sort o' looks like a frog, don't he?"

          Ironhorse glared at the young cowboy and he scampered back several steps.

          "Well, don't he?" Kyle squeaked.

          Blackwood shifted slightly, trying not to grin, and lowered his hands after he was checked for any concealed weapons.  "I really hate to ask, but where, exactly, is _here?_ "

          The cowboys snickered again, except for Heyes and the blond.

          "Why, this here's Devil's Hole, o' course," Kyle told them, trying to regain his status after getting scared by the glare from an unarmed man.

          The Preacher moved to Ironhorse and began removing the small arsenal of weapons distributed across the colonel's person.

          "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto," Blackwood commented softly.

          "Hell, no!" Wheat said, shaking his head disgustedly.  "This here's _Wyoming_.  You sure ain't much of a navigator, are ya?"

          "I'm _not_ a navigator, I study the stars.  I'm—"

          "He must be one of them back-east scientists out here to look at that flyin' thing that crashed," Lobo stated, looking almighty pleased with himself.

          Ironhorse and Harrison exchanged nervous glances.

          "Flying thing?" the colonel asked the men.

          "Uh, excuse me, but what year is this?" Blackwood asked, the edge to his voice clear to all of the cowboys.

          "You loco or something, mister?" Wheat asked, taking a step back, his hand dropping to the butt of his revolver.

          Ironhorse watched Heyes' eyes narrow slightly.  "You must be more lost than you thought," the man said lightly, but there was an undercurrent of hesitation.  "It's the seventeenth of August, 1882."

          Ironhorse felt the blood leave his face and he sucked in a deep breath.  He heard Blackwood do the same.

          "What're we gonna do with 'em?" Wheat asked Heyes.

          "Well," Heyes said, tilting back his hat, and cocking his head slightly, "they got this far, I guess we take them on into the Hole."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blackwood's feet hurt.  The hike through the maze of washes, trails and rough ridges had been long and arduous.  He glanced sideways at Ironhorse, envying the colonel the ease with which he continued like they were on a Sunday stroll.  He really did have to get back to a regular jogging schedule – _if_ he ever made it home.  1882?

          The date echoed in the scientist's head over and over.  1882… 1882…  Somehow the alien crystal had sent them back in time.  But how?

          And _how_ were they going to get back?  _Could_ they get back?  What would happen with the aliens if they didn't?

          A hand descending on his shoulder drew Blackwood back from the building panic and he stopped, realizing that he was about to step off the edge of a crumbling trail that died at the top of a small ridge.

          "Careful, Doctor," Ironhorse warned quietly, his black eyes scanning Blackwood to see if there was anything physically wrong with the man.

          "I thought he was a navigator?" Kyle snickered.

          "I'm a _scientist_ ," Harrison corrected, pushing his curly brown hair off his forehead with the back of his hand, and wishing he had a hat.  Remembering the earlier conversation, he added, "From the university."

          "Hold up," Heyes called from his horse, then rode up next to the two men.  Blackwood eyed the man nervously.  "We're going to blindfold you for the rest of the trip."

          "Why?" Blackwood asked, his blue eyes narrowing.  It would be too easy for them to fall if they couldn't see.  What if these men really were aliens?

          "'Cause this here's Devil's Hole, and we're the Devil's Hole Gang," Wheat snapped.  "And we ain't lettin' no lawmen see the secret entrance to the best damned hideout this side of the Mississippi, that's why."

          "Hideout?" Blackwood questioned.

          "We're bank robbers," Kyle filled in proudly.  "And train robbers, too."

          Blackwood heard Ironhorse's sigh.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse didn't like the blindfold, but he got a fix on the direction they had been starting from before the cloth was tied over his eyes.  During the rest of the trip, riding behind the blond fast draw, he kept a careful count on the turns and time traveled until they came to a stop and he was pulled off the horse and the cloth removed.

          There were several buildings scattered around a small clearing ringed by mountains.  Ironhorse and Blackwood were escorted away from the small barn and into the largest of the cabins.  Left alone, Ironhorse took the opportunity to write down the directions in case they managed to escape, while Blackwood prowled through the room.  Stuffing the slip of paper into his pocket, the colonel walked over to join Blackwood.

          "Look at this," the scientist said, fingering the chimney of an oil lamp.  "Pretty authentic 1882."

          "You don't think—?"

          "Yes.  I do."

          The pair was interrupted when Heyes and the blond entered and took seats on the sparse but comfortable furniture.

          "So," Heyes said, drawing up one booted ankle to rest on his knee.  "Tell us again who you are and why you're in Devil's Hole."

          Blackwood drew himself up and Ironhorse could tell the astrophysicist had formulated a story.  He just hoped that the two men believed it.

          "We've already told you the truth.  I'm a scientist, and I do study the stars.  We're here because we heard about the… incident.  Ironhorse is my guide."

          Heyes nodded, his eyes shifting to regard the colonel.

          "I'm not overly familiar with this part of the country," Ironhorse explained.  "I got lost."

          The outlaw leader thought a moment.  "And your clothes?"

          "It's an experiment the Army's trying out," Blackwood answered quickly.  "So their scouts can blend into the surroundings easier."

          "Are these guns an experiment, too?" the blond asked, tapping the Uzi and Baretta he had carried in along with the colonel's other weapons, setting them on the small table next to his chair.

          "Yes," Ironhorse replied before Blackwood could.  "But they're not reliable.  If you don't know how to use them they can be dangerous."

          "What can you tell me about this space object?" Blackwood interrupted.

          Heyes' attention shifted away from the colonel, and he stood, walking over to a desk and picking up a newspaper.  "Here," he said, holding it out.  "Read for yourself."

          Blackwood accepted the paper, checking the masthead.  A perplexed expression wrinkled across his face.  "You get newspapers out here?"

          Heyes was stopped for a moment, then grinned.  "No," he chuckled, "we, uh, picked it up during our last job."

          Ironhorse settled into an at-ease stance, ready to move if he needed to, while Blackwood read the report aloud.

          "Rim Rock, Wyoming.  On August thirteenth, Mr. Nathaniel Lordston witnessed a meteorite crash in one of his summer pastures.  Several of his cattle were killed when the celestial object impacted the ground and rolled for several yards before breaking apart.  The Sheriff from Rim Rock told this reporter that several folks from town had seen the object fall.  A faint, high pitched whistle accompanied the object's descent.

          "Mr. Lordston and several of his ranch hands gathered up the pieces and brought them in to Rim Rock where Mr. Wicket, the local schoolteacher, examined them.  Mr. Wicket suggested that the professors at the university in St. Louis be contacted, as the event and objects might have scientific value.  Mr. Lordston sent a telegraph on the fourteenth and several scientists from the university will be arriving in Rim Rock to look at the heavenly objects.

          "Mr. Lordston has arranged for the celestial debris to be on display at the Rim Rock Methodist Church until the scientists' arrival."

          The blond watched the colonel, but Heyes was more interested in the expressions passing over Blackwood's face.

          "Well?" the outlaw asked when Harrison was finished.

          "This is… fascinating."  Blackwood paced away from Heyes and the blond stiffened.  He turned.  "Can you take us to Rim Rock?" Harrison asked them.  "To see this display?"

          Heyes looked to his partner.  "What do you think, Kid?"

          The blond shrugged.

          Heyes looked back to Blackwood.  "All right, we'll go tomorrow.  Hungry?"

          "Starved," Blackwood replied, smiling.  He stuck out his hand and Heyes shook it.  "Thank you."

          "You're welcome.  Now, what university did you come from?"

          "The Pacific Institute of Science and Technology, near Los Angeles, California."

          "Los Angeles?  I haven't been down that way often, but San Francisco, now that's a gem of a city."

          "San Francisco?" Blackwood asked, his curiosity rising.  "What's it like in 1882?"

          "Well," Heyes said, walking over to take a seat and make himself comfortable, "it's like no other city in the country.  There are gambling houses and women…"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Heyes?"

          "Yeah, Kid?"  He listened to his partner roll over onto his back, the old bedsprings creaking in reply.

          "Do you trust those two?" the Kid asked in the darkness, keeping his voice soft and low so it wouldn't carry into the room where Blackwood and Ironhorse were sleeping on bedrolls next to the fireplace.

          "I don't know, Kid.  Yes and no, I guess."

          "What's that mean?"

          Heyes grinned.  "It means I think they're telling half the truth."

          There was a sigh.  "Which half, Heyes?"

          "They aren't lawmen.  And they aren't after us."

          "But an Indian in the Army?"

          "He's the most educated Indian I've ever met, or heard of, and he does act like all the Army officers I've seen."

          "I guess you're right there.  But do you think Blackwood's really a university teacher?"

          "Yes."

          Curry shifted again.  "Heyes, I don't like that tone."

          "What do you make of those weapons?"

          It was the Kid's turn to pause.  He folded his arms under his head and stared up at the ceiling.  "I've never seen anything like 'em, especially that one big gun.  It's light, but it fires so fast, and that knife.  Whoever made that pig-sticker must be a master of his craft.  They aren't Army issue, that much I know for sure."

          "Preacher thinks they might be demons."

          Curry snorted.  "Why not angels?"

          "They aren't from around here, Kid."

          That caught the blond's attention and he sat up in bed, trying to read Heyes' face in the darkness.  "What do you mean?"

          "I don't know, exactly.  Their clothes, the guns, the way they act, they just aren't like men we meet every day."

          "I'll agree with that, but who are they then?"

          "Maybe they'll tell us."

          Curry lay back down.  "Heyes, I don't like surprises.  What if the Preacher's right?"

          "They aren't demons, Kid, and whoever they are, they're interested in that thing that crashed out of the sky.  I'm a little curious about that myself."

          "That doesn't make me feel any better, Heyes."

          "Get some sleep, Kid.  It'll look better in the morning.  Trust me."

          "I hate it when you say that."

          "I'm usually right."

          "It's when you're wrong that's got me worried."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse accepted the somewhat battered cowboy hat from Heyes, while Blackwood pushed the brown bowler over his light brown curls.  As the "scientist," Heyes had insisted that Blackwood wear the formal suit, arguing that the clothes they were wearing would draw unwanted attention in town.  And, with the members of the Devil's Hole Gang wanted in Wyoming, attention was something they could ill afford.  The Blackwood Project members agreed.

          That meant that the colonel exchanged his uniform for the mix-matched costume of leather and homespun he now wore, and Blackwood had squeezed into Heyes' dark brown suit that was two sizes too small, but somehow looked plausible for a somewhat absent-minded college professor.

          Curry leaned against the door to their cabin and grinned.  "Heyes, they look perfect."

          The dark-haired man smiled back, equally pleased.  "I do good work, don't I?"

          "I'd like my weapons back," Ironhorse said conversationally.

          The outlaws exchanged glances.  "All right," Heyes said, "but I want your word that you won't use them on any of us."

          The colonel's eyebrows climbed.  "You'd take the word of an Indian?"

          Heyes gave a small shrug.  "This one's, anyway."

          The colonel nodded, a small crooked smile decorating his face.  "You have it, then."

          Heyes nodded to the Kid, who retrieved the weapons from the cabin.  Handing them to Ironhorse, the two outlaws watched in fascination while the soldier strapped the battle baton on so it rested along his back, between his shoulder blades.  He slipped a tan leather vest over it.  The tomahawk went on the worn black leather belt that held up the too-large trousers.  Ironhorse slipped on his shoulder holster and thrust the Beretta into place, a baggy leather jacket he drew on hiding the weapon.

          "I'd like to leave this here," Ironhorse said, holding the Uzi.  "It might draw too much attention in town."

          "Stick it in a bedroll," Heyes said.  "If anything should happen, we might not get back here for a while."  The leader looked pointedly at Kyle, who shifted uncomfortably.  "And it's too dangerous to leave behind."

          Ironhorse nodded, taking the Uzi and several other items over to the saddled buckskin he was told he'd be riding.  He pulled the beat-up saddle-bags off and packed his gear, then untied the bedroll, wrapped the Uzi up, and tied it behind the saddle.

          Heyes watched as the colonel carefully slipped a wallet-sized object into the pocket of his jacket and wondered what it was.  He'd ask later.

          Curry walked over to stand next to his partner.  "Don't think I've seen so many weapons on one man," he said softly.

          Heyes nodded.  "Makes you wonder what he's used to fighting, don't it?"

          "That it does, Heyes."  The Kid shook his head slowly.  "I just hope we don't meet up with his trouble."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blackwood was not used to riding, especially for long periods of time and over rough terrain.  No matter how he shifted in the saddle, he couldn't ease the pain building in his thighs and groin.  It would be a miracle if he could stand on his own when they reached their destination.  And it was already nearing sunset – surely they would reach the small town sometime soon.

          _How did these men do this?_ he wondered silently.  Looking over, he caught Ironhorse watching him and smiled thinly.  "Guess I'm not cut out to be a cowboy," he said.

          "I should've been giving you lessons alongside Debi," the colonel teased him.

          Heyes pulled up his bay, Curry and the two Project members bunching in around him.  "That's Rim Rock.  Looks like things are pretty quiet.  We haven't hit the bank here, so we'll just take things nice and slow so we don't rouse any suspicion – take a room at the hotel, then head over to the saloon and see what the scuttlebutt is."

          "Huh…"  Blackwood stalled.

          "What?" Heyes asked him, tipping back his black hat and running the back of his hand across his forehead.

          "We don't have any money," the scientist explained sheepishly.

          Heyes and Curry both grinned.  "Guess we'll just have to rob the bank, then," the outlaw leader said.

          "What?" Ironhorse demanded.  "Now, just a—"

          "Whoa," Curry said, shaking his head, "Heyes was just foolin'."  He looked at his cousin.  "Weren't you?"

          Heyes nodded.  "Don't worry, the Kid and I will cover your expenses."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Blackwood had no trouble mingling with the scientists and reporters haunting the church in Rim Rock.  The pews had been moved over to line the walls, and the visitors wandered around the tables that had been set up in the center of the small hall, staring at the various fragments of machinery that had been found scattered across a pasture.  Mr. Lordston, the rancher who owned the property, called the objects the remains of a meteorite, but Blackwood knew that no meteorite had machined pieces making up their cores.

          Ironhorse stayed close by, sitting in the shadows and trying his best to look like an Indian guide – whatever that should be.  Occasionally he removed the hand-held Geiger counter from his jacket and scanned the latest arrivals, but so far no aliens had shown up.

          Heyes and Curry also wandered through the room, looking at the objects on display and listening to the men in suits as they discussed various theories to explain the items.  It seemed that everyone in the small town and neighboring countryside had dropped in to take a look at the material that was making the town famous, and more people were arriving from all parts of the country, so the two outlaws and Blackwood didn't draw any attention.  Ironhorse, however, was another matter.  Indians in town were a rare enough occurrence to make the assembled group nervous and curious.  At least they were leaving him alone.

          Blackwood smiled and nodded at an older gentleman, then walked over to sit on the rough wooden pew next to the colonel.

          "Is it part of a war machine?" Paul asked softly.

          "I don't think so, but there's no way to know for certain.  It doesn't look like the remains of the three ships we destroyed at Kellogue Air Force Base," Harrison replied.  "Do you want my opinion?"

          "Opinion?"

          "Okay, call it a hunch, Colonel.  I think we _are_ looking at the remains of an alien craft."

          Ironhorse considered the implications.  "But not a Mor'taxan craft?" he prompted.  Blackwood nodded and Ironhorse's lips pressed into a thin line as he contemplated the information further.  "You can't be sure," he argued quietly.

          "No," Harrison admitted, "but if I'm right?"

          There was a slow, careful nod.  "That could explain why the Mor'taxans were trying to get back here – new players.  It could mean trouble for them."

          "Or for us.  I need to get a closer look at some of these artifacts," Blackwood told the soldier.  "Lordston isn't letting anyone handle the items until he hears from his lawyer in St. Louis.  If he says okay, Lordston's agreed to let the scientists handle them and run experiments.  He should hear tomorrow or the next day.  I guess we wait."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Heyes, what're we doing out here?" Curry asked for the third time in five minutes, his gaze sweeping the meadow nervously.

          "We're looking for more pieces of that meteor," his partner replied patiently.  "Now, come on."  The outlaw leader reined his bay away from where the two Project members were walking over the rolling pasture land.

          "Heyes?"

          "Yeah, Kid?"

          "What's a meteor, exactly?"

          Heyes let his gaze sweep over the grassy earth as he answered.  There were large sections that had been burned, and around each of those the green blades were bent back like a strong wind had blown through.  "The scientists in Rim Rock said they're rocks, flying around in outer space, and every once in a while they fall out of the sky and land on the earth."

          "Rocks?  With wings?  Come on, Heyes, that's crazy."

          "I don't think they've got wings," Heyes said, his forehead wrinkling as he considered the possibility.  "Just rocks."

          "How big are these rocks?" Curry asked, pulling up his mare to look at a deep furrow that had been plowed into the ground.

          "Don't know, but this one must've been pretty good-sized."

          "Heyes," the blond called, urging his mare into a trot to reach his partner.  "How many rocks do you know look like a pocket watch on the inside?"  The dark-haired man shrugged.  Curry grinned, his mood lifting as he realized they'd stumbled across a puzzle Heyes couldn't solve.  "Maybe you ought to go to one of them universities."

          "Find anything?" Blackwood asked, walking up to join them.  Ironhorse followed behind him, leading their horses and looking disgusted.

          "Nothing," Heyes replied, happy to ignore the Kid's last remark.

          "Lordston's men must've combed the area several times," the scientist said.  "We didn't find anything either."

          "I suggest we get back to town before we draw any unwanted attention out here, Doctor," Ironhorse suggested.

          Heyes nodded.  "You sound like a man on the dodge."

          Ironhorse looked up at Heyes, his black eyebrows climbing in two graceful arcs.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Heyes and Curry sat across from Ironhorse and Blackwood in the hotel's nearly full dining room, listening to their low, but intense argument.

          "Doctor, we _can't_ press the issue.  If Lordston wants to wait, he has the right to wait.  If he asks for your credentials…"  He let the statement hang between them.

          "I _have_ to get a closer look at those items," was Blackwood's equally uncompromising reply.

          "They're storing them in the safe over at the bank at night," Curry supplied conversationally.  "I heard one of them scientists talkin' about it.  He was pretty upset about not being able to get a closer look, too.  I still don't see why everyone's so all-fired interested in rocks."

          "These are special rocks," Blackwood explained.

          Harrison paused, his blue eyes narrowing in a way Ironhorse had learned to associate with the hatching of the man's wilder schemes.

          "The bank safe?"  The scientist leaned forward slightly and looked around the room for anyone who might be listening to their conversation.

          "Doctor—"

          "Didn't you say that you're…"  He paused, then whispered clandestinely, "Bank robbers?"

          "Blackwood—"

          Heyes and Curry both stiffened.  "Shhh," Heyes said, his gaze darting over the other patrons for any hint that they might have heard.  "But, yes."

          Blackwood's eyes twinkled dangerously.  "Then you could arrange a private showing?"

          "Damn it, Blackwood, if you're—" Ironhorse started to object, but the smile on Heyes' face told the colonel it was too late.  Blackwood had already snagged the man into his latest reckless plan.  He sighed heavily, his gaze meeting the Kid's eyes.  Curry shrugged.  It seemed that he was used to this as well.

          "It might be possible," Heyes said, nodding.  "Depending on what kind of…"  He looked around again, then leaned forward and whispered, "…safe they're using."

          "Heyes, you sure about this?" Curry questioned, not at all sure he liked the direction the conversation was headed.

          The outlaw leader flashed a smile at his partner.  "Not to worry, it can't be a P&H '78, can it?  It'll be a piece of cake."

          "I don't know, I got one of those feelings."

          "Perhaps we should listen to Mr. Curry," Ironhorse said, but Blackwood cut him off before he could say more.

          "Looks like we're joining the gang."

          "Shh," the three men chorused.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Heyes waited until the Kid, Blackwood and Ironhorse moved into the alley before he followed them.  He wished the other members of the Devil's Hole Gang were there to keep an eye out for any deputy who might wander by on his midnight rounds.  And their horses were tethered further away than he liked, but there was no way to leave them at the hitching rail in front of the bank without raising suspicions.  They would just have to be more careful than usual, he concluded.

          Stopping at the rear window of the small bank, Blackwood and Ironhorse stepped back to let the two outlaws work.

          The colonel waited, reviewing the sentence for a convicted felon – twenty-five years in Leavenworth, with Blackwood as a cellmate.  He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and chased the dreadful images away.  _Grandfather, how do I get into these situations?  Keep an eye on us_ , he pleaded silently.

          Heyes nodded to his partner and they set to work with practiced ease.  Clearly, they had done this before.

          Heyes worked with a smile; he and the Kid had been meaning to hit this particular bank for several months, but the time hadn't seemed right.  Now, with Blackwood anxious to examine the debris, it was the perfect opportunity to pluck two birds with one break-in.

          Curry waited until Heyes had jimmied the window lock, then positioned the bar spreader and held it while Heyes started the process to wedge the two bars apart.  That done, the Kid eased back to the alley entrance to keep watch.  It looked perfectly quiet, but something continued to nag at the back of Curry's mind. Just like it had in Wichita that time, he remembered.

          A birdcall whistle from Heyes told the Kid his partner was ready.  He took one last look down the deserted street and then trotted to the open window, waiting for Ironhorse and Blackwood to enter and then squeezing in himself.  He took up a position next to the curtains with a clear view down the alley.

          Ironhorse watched as Heyes headed directly for the safe sitting against one wall.  Blackwood trailed after the outlaw, carrying a carpetbag.  Harrison was taking his membership in the outlaw gang too seriously, the colonel concluded.  Deciding that he'd only be in the way, the soldier opted to stay at the window with Curry.  The two men exchanged glances.

          "What tribe do you belong to?" the Kid asked, uncomfortable with the company, but trying not to let it show.

          "Cherokee," Ironhorse supplied, equally uncomfortable, but with taking part in a bank robbery, a felony.  He _could_ go to Leavenworth for this.  Wait, there were statutes of limitations on this sort of thing, weren't there?  How the hell was he going to explain this to General Wilson?  _Was_ he going to explain it to General Wilson?

          "Harrison said you were a veteran," Curry continued in a soft tone.  "You fight for the North or the South?"

          Ironhorse's eyes grew slightly round, but he gave the blond outlaw a crooked grin.  "Neither.  Different war.  But if I'd been called to fight in that one it would've been with the Union."

          Curry nodded slowly.  "Heyes and me was just kids at the time.  Our folks got killed by raiders…" he said, trailing off and wondering why he was revealing so much to the stranger.  There was something in the man's eyes that said he would understand.

          "I'm sorry."

          The outlaw shrugged.  "Nothin' special about it.  Lots 'a people died.  You and Harrison been travelin' long?"

          The crooked grin returned.  "A couple of years, now."

          "Must strike folks strange, you being Cherokee and all."

          At first Ironhorse felt an old familiar anger start to rise, but looking at Curry, he didn't see any of the hate or condescension he was accustomed to.  "At times," he replied truthfully.  "But usually they just think Blackwood's weird."

          "Weird?"

          "Will you two keep it down," Heyes whispered hotly.  "I can't hear the tumblers."

          "Sorry," the Kid whispered back, exchanging a grin with the colonel.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Amazing," Blackwood said.  "Simply amazing."

          Ironhorse moved silently across the small room to join his friend and Heyes.  "The artifacts?"

          "No," Harrison countered, "Mr. Heyes' ability with a safe tumbler.  I'd bet he could work that Rubic's Cube, Colonel."

          Ironhorse's black eyes narrowed at the old jibe.

          The leader of the Devil's Hole Gang smiled proudly.  "This was relatively easy, just a Brooker 202.  Now, a Brooker 404, that's another matter altogether, and a Pierce and  Hamilton '78, well, that's downright impossible, I think.  But I'm working on it."

          Blackwood waited while Heyes cleaned out the cash and then removed the trays that held the broken mechanical devices.  Collecting the pieces in a cloth sack, Blackwood treated each like part of the crown jewels.

          "Are we ready?" Ironhorse asked, still unsure if he liked the idea that they were robbing the bank as well.  At least the outlaws left behind the bonds, stocks and deeds, taking only the paper money, which was light and untraceable.

          "We are," Heyes said, closing the safe and spinning the dial.

          Curry exited the building first, easing back down to the end of the alley while the others climbed through the window.

          Ironhorse silently joined the Kid, waiting while Heyes used the bar spreader to push the bars back to their original position.  There would be no evidence that the bank had been robbed until the safe was opened.  Even with his misgivings, Paul was impressed with the outlaws' cool efficiency.

          When Heyes and Blackwood joined them, the foursome headed quickly and quietly to where the horses were tied in a small clump of cottonwoods behind the dry goods store.

          The brush of a boot heel in the dry dirt froze all of them, Curry and Ironhorse pivoting first to face Lordston and two of his men.  "They have the artifacts," the rancher stated, his voice reverberating eerily in the still night air.  "We must stop them."

          Ironhorse was already pushing Blackwood toward the horses, Heyes and Curry right behind him.

          "How the hell did Lordston know?" Heyes asked, swinging into the saddle.

          "Later!" the colonel snapped.  With Blackwood mounted, Ironhorse rolled onto the back of the short buckskin, and drew his M-9 Baretta.

          Curry was the last to mount, stepping into the stirrup as one of the ranch hands drew his own Colt and fired.  The shot caught the blond in the upper back, and he folded over the saddle horn, maintaining his grip as they spurred their horses into a hard gallop.

          More shots rang out, the bullets chasing after them as they disappeared into the inky blackness.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse could hear the horses following them.  The three men were gaining ground, but in the dark shadows of the three-quarter moon, they weren't able to actually track them.  Riding next to Heyes, he let the outlaw leader set the direction, but directed the terrain over which they rode.  Behind them, Blackwood and Curry followed.

          "We're too far from the Hole to get back there," Heyes said, just loud enough for Ironhorse to hear.  "But we have to find someplace to hole up so I can look at that wound."

          The colonel nodded.  "You have a place in mind?"  He could see Heyes' mind working furiously, but the man shook his head.  "Then we'll just have to find someplace out here."

          "I thought you didn't know this area," Heyes countered.

          "I don't," Ironhorse told him, reining the buckskin down a short slope and into a dry wash, "but I know how to survive."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          By dawn they had lost Lordston and his two men, but Heyes was completely confused.  It was only after the sun was close enough to the horizon to cast orange-pink banners of light across the sky that the outlaw was able to get his bearings.  Ironhorse, he concluded, had never been lost.

          They were at the far end of Carson Canyon, at the other was a small rise that dipped down to the cottonwood grove where the two strangers had been found.  How the Cherokee had brought them this close to the entrance to Devil's Hole, Heyes didn't know, but it made him nervous, albeit not as nervous as the shade of yellow-grey stretched tight across the Kid's face.

          Glancing around the spot Ironhorse had found, Heyes nodded in approval.  It was perfect, a barn-sized crack in the shale hills with enough room for the horses and plenty of undergrowth around the entrance to conceal them from anything short of a man on foot looking for just such a place.  And a man on foot in this terrain was going to make a hell of a lot of noise.

          Heyes continued working to pull his partner's shirt off, and with Blackwood's help they finally managed it.

          "Anything?" Blackwood asked, glancing past Heyes.

          The outlaw started to answer, but a voice interrupted, causing him to start, jostling the Kid and drawing a moan from him.

          "Nothing.  I erased our tracks.  They're going to have to work to find us."  Ironhorse stepped around to join the three men, settling in next to Blackwood.  "How is he?"

          "Not good," the scientist replied.

          Leaning Curry into his shoulder, Heyes held the injured man while Blackwood arranged the Kid's bedroll on the ground, stopping to remove the largest of the rocks first.  Once that was done, the three men laid Curry out on the blanket, resting on his side.

          "Heyes?"

          "It's okay, Kid, I'm right here.  You're gonna be fine."

          "I don't feel fine, Heyes," Curry ground out while his partner wiped away the already dried blood with a handkerchief and water from his canteen.  Sucking in a sharp breath, the Kid blew it out, squeezing his eyes shut.  "That _hurts_."

          "I know," Heyes said softly.  "I'm sorry, Kid, but I have to take a look.  The bullet's still in there."

          "I was afraid of that," was the despondent reply.  "Kind 'a hoped it was a flesh wound."

          "Harrison, get my saddlebags," Ironhorse said softly, maneuvering around in front of the blond and rearranging the man's legs so he was lying more on his stomach than his side.  Leaning over Curry's shoulder, he looked at the small angry red hole just to the left of the man's shoulder blade.

          "How's it look?" the Kid asked him.

          "Not as bad as I expected," Ironhorse relied honestly.

          "That's real encouragin'."

          Heyes gave the colonel a grateful nod while Blackwood rejoined them, carrying the saddlebags.  "Where's the nearest doctor?" Ironhorse asked the outlaw leader.

          "Three, maybe four days," he said, the worry creeping into his voice.  "And if we're being tracked, maybe longer."

          "He can't wait that long," Blackwood whispered.  "Not to mention what might happen if our friends out there catch up with us."

          "I know, Doctor," Ironhorse replied grimly, noting the signs of shock that had already set in.  Curry was pale, clammy, semiconscious.   _Damn it_ , he thought.  _I'm not a doctor_.  A chill passed over Ironhorse.  What if Curry died?  Would that alter the future?  Time travel.  He wasn't trained in time travel.

          "We have to do something," Heyes said urgently.

          Ironhorse nodded.  "That bullet needs to come out, and the wound needs to be cleaned."

          The outlaw leader nodded.  "Exactly.  I'll do it."

          "Heyes, you've never done that before," Curry squeaked.

          The dark-haired man rested a reassuring hand on the Jed's shoulder.  "First time for everything, Kid.  You know I'm a fast learner."

          "I'm no safe you'll be working on."

          "Don't you trust me, Kid?"

          "I trust you, Heyes," Curry said softly, his voice catching.  He was scared, and it showed.  He felt his partner's hand close tighter on his shoulder.

          "I'll do it," Ironhorse said matter-of-factly.

          Heyes's gaze left his partner's pain-pinched face to lock on the obsidian black of Ironhorse's eyes.  "You know some doctoring?"

          "I've had some training in treating bullet wounds," the colonel said.

          Heyes' anxiety wasn't alleviated when he saw Blackwood's concerned expression.  "You're sure?" he pressed.

          "Mr. Heyes, you can do this yourself, if you want to—" the colonel started, but Blackwood cut him off.

          "Let Ironhorse do what he has to."

          Heyes searched the scientist's bright blue eyes.  Blackwood trusted the Indian, completely.  He respected the bond between the two men – it reminded him a great deal of his own with the Kid.  He nodded slowly.  "What can I do?"

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          For the hundredth time Ironhorse thanked the powers that be that he always carried an emergency medical field kit when he went on a mission.  It was a left-over habit from earlier days, and he'd never had to use it before.  When he had entered the Special Forces and earned a position in the elite Delta Force it was at a time when cross-specialization was demanded of all recruits.  Each man in the unit had a primary area of specialization, as well as training in a secondary and tertiary skill as well.  As a result, each unit was self-sufficient, and even if they sustained casualties, there was only a small likelihood that they would lose a particular specialty, like medic, Ironhorse's tertiary MOS.

          The colonel had committed the Special Forces Emergency Field Treatment manual to memory, but that didn't make up for his limited practical experience.  Still, he thought, it was probably more than Heyes had, and certainly more than Blackwood.

          He took a deep breath and looked at the wound.  It was a soft tissue injury.  He would have to debride the wound, remove the bullet, and then try to keep it as clean as possible.

          Ironhorse set the surgical kit on the jacket he had stripped off.  There was no way he was going to be able to maintain a sterile field, but he could at least try his best to minimize the risk of infection.  He rolled up his sleeves, then pulled on latex gloves.  Heyes had already made Curry as comfortable as he could, and now sat across from Ironhorse, ready to hold the blond's shoulders still.  Blackwood was at Curry's feet to hold his legs.

          Breaking open a plastic ampoule, he spread the reddish-brown liquid over the wound, using the built in scrub to work up a lather around the opening.  Curry sucked in a sharp breath and trembled, but he didn't pull away.  The man had guts, Ironhorse acknowledged silently.

          Catching Heyes' gaze, Ironhorse gave him a thin smile of reassurance and was pleased to see that it worked.  Still, he wished he had some kind of anesthesia for the man.

          Taking the tweezers and the scalpel, Ironhorse wiped them with the solution as well, then set to work probing the entry, despite the moan it drew from the injured man.  Relieved to find the slug relatively near the surface, he paused.

          "Okay," he said calmly and hoped his fear didn't sneak through, "I've located the slug.  Now, it's closer to the surface than I thought, so I might not have to do too much cutting, except to get the debris out, but this is still going to hurt."

          "It's _been_ hurtin'," the Kid growled through clenched teeth.

          Ironhorse gripped the man's uninjured shoulder.  "I know.  Hang in there."

          "It'll be over before you know it," Heyes added.

          "I doubt that," was the mumbled reply.

          Ironhorse set to work, ignoring the twitching, the moaning, and the occasional sobbing, as he concentrated on getting a good exposure on the wound.  He was relieved when the outlaw passed out after his first cut past the skin and fascia.

          He separated the muscles into their groups and debrided each, the four "C's" echoing in the back of his mind – color, consistency, contractility, and circulation.

          Then he went for the bullet, teasing it free and removing the remaining dead tissue that he could find.

          He paused to blot the sweat off his forehead with the rough material of his shirt sleeve, and then used some of the sterile pads from his kit to soak up the blood oozing from the incision.  He poured water over the wound, wishing it was a physiologic salt solution.

          Checking and finding the wound as clean as he could make it, the colonel placed a few wide strips of the fine-mesh gauze between the walls of the wound, filled the pocket that was formed with the fluffed variety, then dressed the wound to protect it but not constrict the drainage.

          With Heyes and Blackwood helping, they immobilized the Kid's arm against his chest.

          Removing a small white pill, he handed it to Heyes.  "Here, give that to him, it'll help ease the pain for the next few hours."

          Heyes looked skeptical, but shook the Kid awake and helped him take the tablet with a sip from his canteen.

          "Ironhorse," Heyes called as the colonel stood and stretched.

          "Yes?" he asked, gathering up the instruments.  He cleaned each and returned them to the small kit along with the leftover gauze and dressing.

          "I just wanted to say thank you.  There's no way I can repay you for what you've done."

          "I did what I had to.  There's no need to thank me.  It might be… premature."

          "Still, if there's anything I can do for you."

          Ironhorse thought a moment and a small crooked smile playing across his face.  "I'll tell you what you can do for me, Mr. Heyes.  If an Indian ever comes to you, asking for help, you can repay me by helping them."

          "Sounds fair enough," Heyes said as Ironhorse stuffed the items back into his saddlebags.

          "I'll be back in a little while," he said quietly to Heyes and Blackwood, who was resting, seated on a small flat rock, his back against the rough shale, contemplating the colonel thoughtfully.

          "Paul," the scientist called.

          "Yes?"

          "That was good work.  You've surprised me again, Colonel."

          Ironhorse looked away, uncomfortable with praise, especially when he considered it his duty.  "We'll have to wait and see how good," was the somber reply.

          "What're you going to do?"

          "See if those three are still looking for us, and if so, how close they are."

          Blackwood stood and stepped in closer to the colonel, walking with him back to the horses.  "They're aliens.  They have to be.  How else could they have known we had the artifacts?"

          Ironhorse nodded.  "I'm afraid I agree with you."

          "The aliens in Wildside might have been trying to get these three back, instead of sending others to this time."

          The colonel nodded.  "Which means we might be stuck here, Doctor."  The flare of panic in Blackwood's eyes made the soldier regret the comment, but it was a possibility, and the sooner they both got used to it, the better.

          "God, I pray you're wrong," Harrison breathed.

          "So do I, Harrison."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Heyes sat next to the Kid, keeping an eye on the younger man as he slept.  Occasionally Curry would moan and shift uncomfortably, but laying a hand on his shoulder or arm would still the restlessness, and he drifted back into a healing sleep.

          Reaching out, the outlaw leader laid the palm of his hand against the Kid's forehead.  "His fever's building," he said out loud.

          Blackwood looked up from his intense examination of the alien artifacts.  "I hope Ironhorse has some antibiotics in that medical kit."

          "Anti-bi-otics?"

          "Drugs that help kill infection.  That will reduce his fever," the scientist explained.

          Heyes nodded.  "Where did he get all that stuff?"

          "The Army," was Blackwood's honest rely.

          "The Army," Heyes echoed.  Why did he believe the man?  He had never seen any soldiers with anything that even remotely resembled the items that Ironhorse carried, but it was clear that the Cherokee was very familiar with them.  Who were these men?

          Heyes was afraid to ask.  "What do you make of those?" he questioned instead, nodding at the pieces of machinery in the scientist's hands.

          "Well, they aren't pieces of a meteor," was the instant response.  Blackwood stood and walked over to join Heyes on the dusty ground.  "But I'm not sure what they are."

          "The Kid said they look like pieces of a pocket watch, but I never saw a watch fly around or do that kind of damage."

          Blackwood shook his head.  "No, it's not a watch, but what it really is…"  He shrugged.  "We may never know for certain."

          Heyes dark eyes narrowed.  "But you have an idea."

          "I—"

          "Our friends are on their way."

          The two men both jumped at Ironhorse's sudden appearance, but climbed hastily to their feet.

          "How close?" the outlaw leader asked.

          "Ten, maybe fifteen minutes.  We have two choices, people."

          "They are?" Blackwood prompted.

          "We stay and fight, or we ride."

          Heyes shook his head.  "The Kid's in no condition to ride."

          "I'll be fine, Heyes."  The three turned to find Curry standing, swaying on his feet.

          "Damn it, Kid, what do you think you're doing?" Heyes snapped, stepping over and wrapping an arm around Curry's shoulders.  "You're gonna fall flat on your face."

          "I can sit down on the back of a horse."

          Heyes shook his head.  "You'll start bleedin' again."

          "I agree," Ironhorse added before Curry could argue further.  "I think we're better off staying here."

          "Heyes, I'm not gonna be much help," the Kid said, his face turning a chalky grey.

          "Just sit down, Kid," his partner soothed.  "We'll take care of it.  After all, there's three of us and three of them – sounds like we've got the edge."

          "I hope you're right, Heyes," the Kid whispered as his partner helped him lay back down on the bedroll.

          Tossing a blanket over Curry, Heyes gave him a stern look.  "You stay here, you hear me?"

          "I hear you."

          "But are you listening?"

          The Kid grinned weakly.  "Be careful, Heyes."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Hannibal Heyes had never heard of a man who refused to carry a gun, especially when his life was in danger, but Ironhorse seemed to find Harrison Blackwood's actions perfectly normal.  At the same time, Blackwood refused to let Heyes and the Cherokee face Lordston and his ranch hands alone.  The scientist was either crazy, or he had something up his sleeve.

          "They're coming," Ironhorse whispered a full three seconds before Heyes actually heard the horses himself.

          _Must be an Indian trick_ , the outlaw thought.  He was about to suggest that they split up when Blackwood moaned low, his hands coming up to either side of his forehead.  Ironhorse winced in pain as well, but his attention remained on the trail.

          "What?" the outlaw leader asked them.

          Blackwood curled up on the ground, his fingers tightening in his light brown curls and moaned again.  Ironhorse shook his head, but continued staring.  "There," he hissed.  "They're coming."

          "What're you plannin' on doing?" Heyes asked him.

          "Colonel," Blackwood panted, "we have to get back – to where we arrived.  Now!"

          "Not possible, Doctor," was the Cherokee's reply.

          "Colonel!"  Harrison's eyes went wide, and he opened his mouth in a silent scream that chilled Heyes down to his boots.

          Ironhorse reached out and, gripping the man's shoulders, gave him a rough shake.  When that didn't work, the colonel drew his fist back and slammed it into the scientist's jaw.  He lowered the unconscious man to the ground and turned back.  He and Heyes watched the three men emerge closer along the trail.

          The outlaw sucked in a breath when he saw the oozing, open sores on the men's faces.  "What in—?"

          Ironhorse slipped the Uzi off his shoulder, thankful that Heyes had insisted he bring the weapon along.  He motioned for the outlaw leader to stay where he was, then disappeared into the undergrowth.

          Ironhorse wished he could explain to Heyes that the men weren't really men any more – they were aliens.  But how could you explain that to someone from the 19th century?  He'd had a hard time believing it himself.  He couldn't explain that the monsters could blend into human bodies, taking over the knowledge of the host and killing the victim's soul.  He'd just have to hope he could kill them before they found the two outlaws, or Blackwood.  But first, he had to try and find out whether or not there was a chance of getting back to their own time – _if_ the aliens would talk.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Heyes glanced nervously at the scientist, but he was still unconscious.  Something was wrong, very wrong.  He could feel it, and every nerve in his body was tingling, but he couldn't fathom why.  When he looked back to the trail it was to see Ironhorse emerge from the brush, the strange weapon in his hands.

          "Hold it right there," he commanded the three men.

          One of the ranch hands went for his Colt, but the Cherokee fired first, the force knocking the man from his saddle.

          Heyes hesitated.  He'd never killed a man before and he didn't relish starting now, but if these three were hunting them down he didn't have much of a choice.  He couldn't let them find the Kid in the shape he was in.

          Lordston dove from his horse and scrambled for cover while the other cowboy did the same, but in the opposite direction.  Heyes headed for the rancher, knowing that Ironhorse would be moving in on the second hand.  Sliding the Colt from his holster, the outlaw leader crept forward until he was lying behind a small outcropping.  Rising slowly, he looked over the top of the jagged rocks and found Lordston lying in a shallow wash, staring out over the top, trying to spot Ironhorse.

          Heyes crouched so he was protected by the small mound of rocks and then called as he cocked his gun, "Hold real still."

          Lordston stiffened but he didn't turn around.

          "Now, nice and slow, stand up.  Keep your hand away from your gun."

          The rancher did as he was told, still facing the trail.  The ripple of the Indian's weapon echoed across the landscape and Heyes sighed in relief.  "Turn around," he told the man.

          Lordston turned slowly, keeping his hands up and away from his body.  "Easy, friend," the older man said, a small smile making him appear almost friendly. "I'm just looking to get those pieces back."

          Heyes stood and carefully made his way down the gentle slope, wishing that the Kid was there to back him up.  Why did this feel so wrong?  He stopped further away from the man than he normally would have.  "What's so interesting about a few pieces of rock?"

          Lordston's eyes narrowed slightly as he judged Heyes – what the verdict was, or the initial charge, the outlaw leader wasn't sure.  "Let's just say I'm a collector, and they have a great deal of sentimental value for me."

          "We'll talk it over," Heyes said, sensing the lie.  "Now, I'm going to tie you up, so why don't you just strip off that fancy tooled belt of yours, and hold it out."

          Lordston nodded and slowly undid the silver buckle on the black leather and pulled it free of his belt-loops.  Holding it in one hand, he intently watched as Heyes stepped closer to take it.  When the outlaw was in arms length a peculiar, horrifying sound ripped through the air, and Heyes saw the front of Lordston's shirt bulge like there was something inside trying to get out.  The rattle of the Cherokee's weapon sounded, the rancher dropped to his knees, a slimy green liquid erupting from the man's mouth as he pitched forward, literally melting in front of them.

          "What the hell's going on here?"

          Ironhorse shook his head.  "I'm afraid I can't tell you that," he said.

          Heyes staggered back, his stomach threatening to rebel at the sight of the frothing remains of what was once a human being.  "But why—?"

          "Heyes," Ironhorse said, the edge to his voice causing the outlaws' gaze to shift from Lordston, "I work for the government."

          There was a feeble nod of the dark-haired man's head.  "You're an agent?"

          "Something like that, yes," Ironhorse replied, urging the man to follow him while he went to retrieve Blackwood.  The headache he was fighting was growing worse.  "Lordston had… a disease," he lied.

          "Disease?"

          "Yes."  Ironhorse retrieved their horses, and led them back to Blackwood.  He removed one of the canteens, and kneeling down beside Blackwood, sprinkled water on the man's face.

          "Is it contagious?" Heyes asked as Harrison sputtered, groaned, and forced his eyes open.

          "Only if there's skin to skin contact," Ironhorse reassured him.  That, after all, was the truth.  "Doctor?"

          Blackwood blinked, shuddered, and coughed.  "What—?"

          "They're dead," Ironhorse stated distantly.  "Can you stand up?"

          Harrison nodded and Heyes and the colonel helped the man struggle to his feet.  Blackwood stood, bent forward, one hand rubbing at his temple.  "We have to get back to that grove," he said weakly.

          They helped Blackwood onto his horse, then mounted themselves.  "Can you take us back?" Ironhorse asked Heyes.

          The outlaw leader looked torn.  "We'll have to get the Kid.  I can't leave him out here."

          "If you give me directions I can find it," Ironhorse said, then gasped and bobbed over his saddle horn as a streak of lightning-like pain exploded in his head, the resulting thunder of agony drowning out the outlaw's reply.

          Heyes repeated the directions and watched as the two men veered off, wondering if he would ever see them again.  He urged his bay on, wanting to get back to where he had left the Kid.  He found the man dozing peacefully, his fever lower.

          "Heyes?" he called.

          "Yeah, Kid, it's me."

          "What happened?" the blond asked, struggling to sit up.

          "We took care of the problem," was the vague reply.

          The Kid studied Heyes' face.  "What does that mean?"

          "Ironhorse killed them."

          "What?"

          "One of the hands drew down on him.  I didn't see the other one."

          "And Lordston?" Curry asked, wondering if Heyes had had to kill the man.

          "Ironhorse shot him, too.  He— He melted."

          "Melted?"

          "Some kind of disease, he said.  I guess Ironhorse saved my life.  He said it could be passed along through touching.  I was just about to tie him up."

          The Kid let out a heavy sigh of relief.  "Hell, Heyes, that's not like nothin' I've ever heard about."

          "I know.  He said he and Blackwood were working for the government.  And you know, Kid?  I believe him."

          Curry reached up and touched the strips of dressing that crossed his chest, holding the bandage on his back in place.  "I do too, but I don't know why."

          "In any case, you just lay back and rest.  We're staying right here until tomorrow, then we're heading back to the Hole until you're healed up.  Besides, we have us a haul to split up."

          Curry grinned.  "Why wait?"

          "You sure?"

          "I feel pretty good, for gettin' shot.  Personally, I'd rather suffer a little now and spend the night in a bed than lie here another night."

          Heyes nodded.  It made sense.  "I'll get the horses."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          Ironhorse and Blackwood rode past the grove of cottonwoods, heading directly for the location where they had awakened in this time.  Reaching the spot, Ironhorse pulled Blackwood from the saddle, and sat the man on the ground.

          "What now, Doctor?"

          "We wait."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          The following morning Ironhorse could barely force himself to roll over and sit up.  The horses, grazing nearby, looked up at his efforts.

          A faint hum had started, although the soldier couldn't identify the direction or the source.

          "You hear that?" he asked Blackwood, who was sitting nearby, rubbing his temples.

          "Yes."

          "Any ideas?"

          "None."

          The hum increased and the two horses spooked, galloping off.

          Blackwood shook his head in his hands.  "I don't know.  I—"

          A blinding flash of green-white light interrupted.

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          "Heyes!"

          The outlaw leader looked up from where he was holding a bowl of stew for the Kid.  "Easy, Preacher, what's the matter?"

          "Ya know how ya told me to go back to that grove and see if those two strangers were there?"

          Heyes nodded, wondering what could get the normally calm man so riled.

          "Well, I got there all right, and the two of 'em were a' sittin' in the dirt, and then, all of a sudden-like, there's this flash of lightning – out of a clear blue sky, I tell you – and they were gone!"

          "Gone?" Heyes and Curry chorused.

          "Gone!" the Preacher exclaimed.  "Like the Lord himself reached down his hand and took 'em up.  They were demons, Heyes.  Demons!"

          The outlaw shook his head.  "I don't think so, Preacher."

          "Then they were angels, but either way they were messengers.  The Bible says…"

          Heyes and Curry listened as the Preacher wandered off, sermonizing to anyone in earshot.  The partners shook their heads.

          "What do you think, Heyes?"

          "I'm trying not to think about it, Kid.  I'm trying real hard."

          "Me, too, Heyes.  Me, too."

 

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

 

          As the light faded, the Omegans rushed forward past the debris of the collapsed hanger wall.  They paused, staring at Ironhorse and Blackwood in their bizarre costumes.  Ironhorse glanced around the destruction of the hanger, then at his watch.  They hadn't been gone, but…  He looked down at the homespun and leathers, then up at Blackwood, who shrugged.  Before either could speak, a second flash carried them away.The End


End file.
